


So The Heart Beats

by reclusedetective (orphan_account)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, also i promise happy endings!, also trying out a new-ish writing method so fingers crossed yeah, bilbo has a memory loss kind of thing going on so there will be attempted angst, i just felt the need to write this and i don't know why?, ya'll can throw eggs at me if i'm wrong but it works out fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/reclusedetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thorin Oakenshield mourns his hobbit, his love of all loves.</p>
<p>And Bilbo Baggins mourns his king, his eternal heartbeat.</p>
<p>The thing is, Bilbo is not dead. The thing is, Thorin is not dead. </p>
<p>Thorin knows this. Bilbo knows nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So The Heart Beats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perkynurples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perkynurples/gifts).



> Bits and pieces inspired by Yuna's lovely song, _Deeper Conversation_.
> 
> For perkynurples, author of the fantastic _NGCS_ and the ongoing _The Ghost And Mr Baggins_ ; because _The Ghost And Mr Baggins_ somehow made me feel melancholic and sent me to this semi-angsty headspace. 
> 
> Amazing fic, that one, BUT WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THOSE TWO LOVABLE FOOLS? Subscribe to the fic and find out! 
> 
> In the meantime, hope you guys enjoy this fic! ♥ ♥ ♥

Did someone take a portion of your heart?  
Now I'm learning you.

\--Yuna, _Deeper Conversation_

+++++

Thorin Oakenshield did not die at the Battle Of The Five Armies. It's a miracle, they say.

Bilbo Baggins _did_ die at the Battle Of The Five Armies. It's a tragedy, they say.

Thorin says, "He's not dead." Thorin says, "Find him."

They follow the King's orders, looking for his not-dead hobbit amidst the multitude of their fallen comrades and allies and enemies. They send the Ravens out, inquiring if he's in The Shire, in Dale, in Mirkwood, or perhaps _Rivendell_. Days and _days_ go by. Weeks pass.

They do not find the hobbit. Thorin says--

No.

Thorin does not say anything. He does not say anything, not for a long, long time.

+++++

He is a hobbit. The facts are these: Hobbits have large feet that they're proud of, a rounded tummy signifying their prosperity, and they're filled with merriment as well as good cheer.

He is a hobbit, or so he thinks. The reality is this: He has large feet, but he's covered them with shoes, a horrendous creation that he hates, _hates_ so much. He's lean and there's barely any fat on him, which he knows _should_ alarm him, but indifference is all the feeling he's able to muster over it. However, the most incriminating part of it all is the emptiness that consumes him from the inside. It _burns_ as he tries to remember, so he doesn't try. He doesn't try, he doesn't talk, he doesn't smile.

_Not-a-hobbit_ , he concludes. _I don't know what I am_ , he thinks. _Who am I_ , he asks.

The thing is, he's quite certain he doesn't want to know. So he focuses on the things he _does_ know, and they are as follows: He knows that he doesn't have a name; he knows of the great, gaping hole deep in him which _aches_ beyond what he can bear, and the one thing he's absolutely _convinced_ of is that someone he loves is dead. He's reasonably sure it's his fault, too.

_This is penance, then_ , is what he tells himself. Of all things, this is what gets him through the cold, cruel nights.

+++++

Helga lives opposite the newest resident of their little town. The man is short, and his riotous curls fall over his forehead messily. As he walks, his back is hunched, and it seems like he has the staggering weight of the world on his shoulders.

_Who is he_ , the people ask. Nobody really knows the answer.

_What is he_ , she finds herself asking. _A man_ , she answers, laughing a little over her own absurdity.

_A broken man_ , she later adds, and suddenly, she isn't laughing anymore.

+++++

A tall, old man stands before him, equipped with a staff in his right hand. The sudden familiarity makes him nauseous, so he takes a step back. He looks up up _up_ , because his height is hobbit-ish ( _not-a-hobbit_ ) and the man is ridiculously tall.

"Bilbo Baggins!" the man announces with a loud, booming voice. Bilbo winces. Shuffles his shoe-clad feet nervously.

"I don't know who that is," he says softly, voice surprisingly even despite the steady thrum of _run-run-run_ that courses through his veins.

"I have no time for jokes, Bilbo! We have all been loo--" The man cuts himself off, silenced by _Bilbo's_ countenance.

Bilbo. It feels _right_. Better than _Thor_ , the name he blurted out when he first arrived at the village.

He has a name.

" _Bilbo, azyungal_ ," the wind whispers.

He doesn't like his name.

"Who are you?" He, _Bilbo_ , asks. "Do you," he swallows and clenches his fist tightly, "know who I am?"

"I do," is the gentle reply, and Bilbo's heart plummets to the ground.

+++++

The man, the _wizard_ , is Gandalf. His lips tighten and his eyes are sad as Bilbo (my name is Bilbo, I am a hobbit, not-a-hobbit, hobbit, _not-a-hob_ \--) recounts whatever little he knows about himself.

He explains how he woke up with a bloodied gash at the back of his head, how he arrived at the village, and how he gets by as a gardener in a place where no one questions him relentlessly to fuel their rumor mill.

He doesn't explain _why_ he feels the need to hide his feet, _why_ he doesn't try to remember, or how the guilt eats at him slowly, torturously, and how he _revels_ in that emotion because it is _penance_ and it helps him _breathe_ \--

_If not remembering hurts this much, how much more will it hurt when I do remember?_

Not knowing is a _blessing_ , not knowing what his dead love looks like as he smiles, laughs, _loves_ is what keeps him sane and afloat.

_He?_

Not knowing is good.

"Oh, Bilbo."

Gandalf sounds sad sad _sad_ , and Bilbo feels like he's _suffocating_.

+++++

"Thorin is _alive_ , Bilbo."

"I don't know who that is," he replies firmly and with absolute honesty.

"King Under The Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf says slowly. "He's been looking for you."

"Gandalf, I don't know who you're talking about and-- and it doesn't matter. I'm happy here."

"You are a good hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, but not a good liar."

The words are said fondly, but Bilbo flinches back violently nonetheless. _Liar, burglar, traitor. Liar, burglar, traitor. Liar, burgla_ \--

"If you come with me, I'll take you to him. Perhaps then..."

"Please," Bilbo pleads, and Gandalf doesn't talk about it again.

+++++

"I will be back as soon as I can," Gandalf promises.

Goodbye, well met, see you, till the next time -- these are few of the polite and respectable replies Bilbo could have responded with.

A brittle and insincere smile is all that he offers instead. It feels wrong.

Gandalf looks disappointed for a brief second; the expression is gone as quickly as it appeared. Gandalf strides away, and Bilbo watches him leave. His heart beats sluggishly, a _thud-thud-thud_ rhythm, one that makes him want to _scream_ , because this is not living, this is hell, _why_ \--

It's _penance_. For what? _Why_? Bilbo doesn't know. The idea that he might find out, though, terrifies him to no end.

+++++

Gandalf travels to Erebor to meet the King.

“He’s not dead,” is what Gandalf tells him.

The King says, “Good.”

Thorin says, “Take me to him.”

The wizard doesn’t meet his eyes. “He doesn’t remember. Not his name, not the quest.”

_Not you_ , King Thorin hears clearly, and it feels like a thin blade piercing through his ribs; slow, torturous, _excruciating_ \--

“Please,” he implores desperately, in a manner completely unbefitting a king, but one that fully suits a dwarf who has been drowning in his grief for _so long_.

“Thorin, he doesn't _want_ to remember.”

It feels like a slap across his face.

"Is he happy?" He manages to ask.

"No, and you need to get to him before his grief over _you_ kills him."

+++++

Just as _Bilbo_ is a name that feels right despite how much he loathes it, _Thorin_ is a name he adores although it is not one that he recognizes.

He pulls his sky-blue hood over his head, and walks in the darkness. He intends to be gone before Gandalf returns.

+++++

“You’re such a clumsy hobbit, ghivashel,” the wind says with a chuckle. Bilbo laughs, as he wraps his twisted ankle hastily. Bloody _shoes_. He stares at his feet once he's done; a second goes by, then two, and three-- before he laughs again at the hopelessness of it all. He laughs and laughs and _laughs_ , and is glad that no one is able to hear him. _I don't want to remember_ , he thinks through his choked laughter, _it hurts it hurts it hurts_.

_Mad Baggins_ , are the words that hit him unexpectedly, and the accuracy of it would be hilarious if it wasn't such a damned tragedy in the first place.

+++++

Two years after the Battle Of The Five Armies, Thorin Oakenshield sees with his own eyes his _azyungal_ , his _ghivashel_ , Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo is limping in the hauntingly quiet forest, hunched and trying to take as little space as possible. Thorin’s chest _aches_.

“Bilbo!” he shouts. The figure falters in his steps, and freezes. The figure turns. The figure looks directly into Thorin's eyes. There is terror and fear and wariness, but there is no sign of recognition. Thorin pushes back his hood and kneels to the ground.

"Thorin Oakenshield of Erebor, at your service." His voice is gravelly and dry, and the hobbit jumps a little where he stands as he hears it.

Thorin waits and waits, hoping that Bilbo would say:

\--Bilbo Baggins, at yours; or

\--You're the most ridiculous dwarf; or

\--Your coat is disgusting, how are you royalty; or

\--Stop scowling, the wind will blow and you'll look like that always; or

\--I hate you for what you did, _leave_ ; but--

This Bilbo says:

"That means nothing to me."

+++++

Thorin is not here to win Bilbo back, but merely to beg for forgiveness. This is what he has promised Gandalf, and it is a promise he intends to keep. He repeats this train of thought, again and again, because it's taking him _all_ that he has to not pull the hobbit into his arms, to hold him tight, to hold him close close _close_ and never let go--

Bilbo is wearing shoes.

_Shoes are monstrous things, hobbits steer clear away from them because they hurt and itch and-- oh Yavanna, I should have known you'd find this amusing, you utter bastard_.

The hood is covering most of Bilbo's hair, but it's so obvious, the lack of-- is painfully _obvious_ \--

_You'd better teach me how to tie one of these braids then, can't have people thinking I'm single and ready to mingle when you're not around to tie it for me. What? Yes, that is a common expression in the Shire, I did my share of mingling, you know-- oh great, no, I'm not telling you who-- oh, you ridiculous dwarf. See, this braid means I'm taken, and when I don't have it, it means you've been an idiot and you should braid it back_.

But, the worst part of it all.

The absolute worst part is the deep, consuming grief woven into Bilbo's entire being, with utter devastation radiating from the tiny hobbit, looking as if he would shimmer away and disappear along with the wind if it blew just _so_ \--

It makes Thorin want to weep.

+++++

_"Why don't you wear shoes?" Thorin asks straightforwardly, after watching his nephews attempt, and consequently fail in uncovering the reasons behind this peculiarity that their burglar has._

_Bilbo answers with a disgusted scowl, before using actual words to describe the amount of dislike he possesses towards shoes. Thorin bites the side of his cheek, trying not to smile._

_"Shoes are monstrous things, hobbits steer clear away from them because they hurt and itch and--"_

_Thorin can't help but grin widely at the passionately delivered answer, and the chuckles heard from the others contribute to the hobbit's look of distaste._

_"Oh Yavanna, I should have known you'd find this amusing, you utter bastard." Bilbo mutters miserably to Thorin, but the corner of his lips are twitching upwards, and Thorin feels his heart sing with affection._

+++++

"It's hard to believe that I would leave home." Bilbo says after a long period of silence; after Thorin had started speaking with a hoarse voice, recounted their quest to reclaim Erebor, begged for forgiveness over what happened at the gated wall, and continued with incessant rambles even after he's done because the silence is so utterly _wrong_.

Thorin opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it when Bilbo turns his head away from him.

"He was part of the quest, wasn't he?"

"Who?"

Silence. After a moment:

"The one I loved."

+++++

Bilbo wanted to say, "the person that I killed" in response to Thorin's simple question.

"The one I loved," is what he says instead, and he would be shocked at himself if he had the energy to _care_.

The one I killed because of my love, the one who died because I loved him, the one I still love but can't remember because I don't want to _hurt_ anymore, the one who is dead dead _dead_ while I live live _live_.

It all means the same thing to him. It's fine.

Though, judging by the sound that comes from the somehow-familiar stranger beside him, it's _not_.

+++++

_"Balin said that these braids mean something," Bilbo asks mischievously._

_Thorin attempts to hide his furious blush with a scowl. His attempts fail miserably._

_"Hmm," he hums in agreement, looking at the ground and wondering if Mahal would be kind enough to zap Balin with a lightning bolt._

_" Something, huh?" Bilbo repeats, and this time, he even wriggles his eyebrows ridiculously._

_"I have things to attend to," Thorin says loftily, and tries to escape majestically, but Bilbo crowds him and pins him against the tree. Damn the strategic hobbit!_

_Bilbo looks at the dwarf from under his long, gorgeous eyelashes. Thorin swallows._

_"So, I was thinking."_

_"Yes?" Thorin chokes out, heart beating wildly as a result of Bilbo's right hand casually resting on his chest._

_"You'd better teach me how to tie one of these braids, can't have people thinking I'm single and ready to mingle when you're not around to tie it for me," the hobbit says thoughtfully._

_Thorin barks out a laugh. "Single and ready to... mingle?"_

_"What?"_

_Feeling like he's somehow obtained the upper hand, Thorin leans in close to Bilbo and savours how Bilbo jumps when kisses are pressed to his neck. "Is that a hobbit-saying?" Thorin inquires politely, his lips brushing against the warm neck as he speaks. The shiver that runs through Bilbo is delightful._

_"Yes, that is a common expression in the Shire. I did my share of mingling, you know," Bilbo says, with a decidedly uneven tone of voice. The tone, Thorin likes. The words... not so much. Thorin punishes the hobbit by sucking a bruise onto the pale flesh._

_"Oh great, now you're jealous-- oh!"_

_"Who were they?" Thorin growls. Bilbo laughs in response, and it cuts off when Thorin's lips meet his._

_After a ravishing kiss which served as both a punishment and declaration, Bilbo feels a little unsteady on his feet. It's brilliant._

_"No, I'm not telling you who--"_

_Thorin pouts at him._

_" Oh, you ridiculous dwarf. See, this braid means I'm taken, and when I don't have it, it means you've been an idiot and you should braid it back."_

_Thorin grins. One, two, three. Bilbo does the same._

+++++

"The one I loved," Bilbo says, and a desperate whimper escapes Thorin just as his mind repeats the word, loved loved _loved_. _Was the one I loved part of the quest_?

"He was," Thorin chokes out. He gets up and knocks over his sword. "Excuse me for--," he manages, before disappearing behind a tree.

Bilbo watches him leave. There is complete silence except for the rustling leaves and blowing wind and his own heart beating.

_Thud-thud-thud_.

He breathes.

_Thud-thud-thud_.

He thinks he misses the company. It was a good distraction.

_Thud-thud-thud_.

Thorin's sword is shiny.

_Thud-thud-thud_.

His cheeks are wet. He doesn’t know why.

+++++

“The one you loved still lives.” Thorin says, and his voice is loud in the still forest.

“Please don’t.”

“He lives, so stop-- _stop_ mourning.”

“Don’t,” Bilbo pleads, don’t don’t don’t.

“He is right here, and he betrayed your love, your friendship, and it is _his_ fault, hi--”

“And if he lives,” Bilbo screams out the words, “why does it _hurt_? Why is there a big, gaping hole in my chest, where my heart is, that _burns_ when I try to remember, that aches when the wind bl-- blows, _all the wind does is blow_ , and it _aches_ beyond what I can bear-- And if he lives, if he is _you_ , why does it _still_ hurt when you are here? If you are _him_ , make it stop-- please, I beg of you--” Bilbo drops to his knees, “make it _stop_.”

+++++

“Where to?” Thorin Oakenshield of Erebor asks Bilbo.

_Did you know him well, that you would lie about being him_? Bilbo wants to ask.

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “I don’t know where home is.”

The dwarf looks like he’s mourning as well, Bilbo realises. The battle must have taken away someone _he_ loved too. That must be why Thorin decided to lie, to pretend, because it would make him feel better. Bilbo closes the wide distance between them and lays a hand on the dwarf’s shoulders. The contact burns, and he quickly removes it.

“Um, I’m sorry for your loss,” he says quietly. Thorin merely stares at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, and a _sad_ expression. It’s terrible to look at.

“Thank you,” Thorin replies in an equally hushed manner.

“Hey, it _will_ be better soon,” Bilbo advises, although it isn’t something that he believes in himself, “After a while, you won’t feel anything anymore.”

Thorin doesn’t reply to this statement.

+++++

As they walk and walk and walk, the silence that fills the air is stifling.

+++++

“I’m him,” Thorin says.

Bilbo snaps. “No, he’s dead, he’s dead dead _dead_ and this is _penance_!”

“Penance for what?” Thorin shouts back.

“For betraying him, for killing him, for loving him, for _everything_.”

+++++

It seems that they’re headed to a place called The Shire. It’s apparently home.

Bilbo shrugs. “Okay.”

+++++

They’ve been journeying together for two days. Thorin doesn’t know how to convince Bilbo that _he_ is the person Bilbo’s grieving, that he’s _alive_ and that they’re both suffering from the mess of his own making.

It’s his fault. He hates himself, and hates himself _more_ for Bilbo’s sake.

+++++

“Bilbo, please listen to me. He lives, I-- _I_ live.”

Bilbo stands up and walks away. It is an argument that he’s tired of having.

+++++

They stop at a village to replenish their supplies. A large man takes a look at Bilbo, from the top of his head and down to his large, uncovered feet, and stares at him.

“Are you a halfling?” the brute exclaims questioningly.

Bilbo tilts his head to the left.

“Yes.”

++++++

_“Hey, halfling, tell us about your Shire.”_

_Bilbo stomps over to Dwalin and the whole camp silences at the look in Bilbo’s eyes._

_“Never, ever call me a halfling again.” He says, and although his words are said in a low tone, the utter quiet carries his voice and the dwarrows feel shivers climbing up their spine. “I am not half of anything.”_

_“Yes, Master Baggins,” says Dwalin, with his head bowed down in apology._

+++++

Bilbo doesn’t quite like the term “ _halfling_ ”. It makes him clench his fist and want to lash out in anger. But it is a term that seems apt, these days.

Bilbo feels like a halfling. He thinks it’s poetic, too. There’s only half of him that breathes, only half of him that really lives.

“He is not a halfling,” Bilbo hears Thorin say with a dangerous undercurrent of tension accompanying his words, “he is not half of _anything_ and if I hear you using that word one more time--”

“Sorry, sorry, sir!”

Bilbo smiles a little at that exchange. The smile doesn’t feel comfortable, but it feels _right_.

+++++

Thorin says that they’re a day away from The Shire. It hits Bilbo that he won’t ever see his strange companion again; not after they part ways, and the thought makes Bilbo stumble and fall.

Thorin is by his side immediately, and Bilbo _smiles_ over how Thorin fusses over him. He’s been doing a little more of that, lately. It always makes Thorin’s frown disappear.

“When will you stop being so clumsy, _ghivashel_?” Thorin whispers softly.

Bilbo thinks his heart stops beating.

+++++

“What was he like?” Bilbo asks.

Thorin stares at Bilbo in surprise. Bilbo looks away, knowing that his sudden curiosity after days and _days_ of refusal and outright avoidance to speak about the subject would garner such a response.

“ _Undeserving_. He was undeserving of your love.”

For some reason, this makes Bilbo laugh. Thorin looks utterly poleaxed. It makes Bilbo laugh even more. It takes him some time to collect himself.

“You’re insulting the man I love, you know.”

“Loved,” Thorin says instantly, and proceeds to look disgusted with himself.

Bilbo giggles, and his heart feels light light _light_.

“Tell me more,” Bilbo requests eagerly.

It takes a long time before Thorin speaks.

“He was a _fool_ who thought himself great and perfect, but it was the love of a gentlehobbit that made him truly whole.” Thorin’s voice is breaking, and his hands are shaking when he looks at them. “He took a portion of the hobbit’s heart, and threw it away for gold, and ev-- every, _every_ day, he remembers his foolishness. He was _undeserving_ \--” Thorin repeats, and he can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes, “but he loves, _loves_ the hobbit who loved him in return.”

+++++

They don’t speak to each other for _hours_ after the declaration. But before Bilbo sleeps that night, he rests his left hand on Thorin’s chest, right where Thorin’s heart is beating.

The intimacy is crippling.

+++++

After the fuss and commotion that comes with a certain Bilbo Baggins showing up out of the blue _years_ after his disappearance, Thorin Oakenshield stands in front of a familiar green door.

“You’re him.” Bilbo says.

Thorin manages a nod.

“I really love you, you know.”

“Yes,” Thorin whispers.

“But… I-- I don’t remember. I will try, but I don’t know if I _can_ \--”

“Anything, azyungal.”

“I don’t even remember your favorite color,” Bilbo continues, with tears pooling in his eyes.

“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out,” Thorin replies with a shaky smile.

“That’s very cheesy,” Bilbo chokes out, and a tear or two falls and trails a wet path down his cheeks.

Thorin raises his hands and wipes the tears away with his thumbs. Thank you thank you _thank you_ , he thinks wildly, the sight of his beloved before him a _privilege_ , _honor_ , and _blessing_ that he does not deserve but received anyway.

“I love you,” Thorin says fervently.

“Yes,” is the answer he receives, and the kiss that Bilbo presses into his palm is _everything_. Most of all, it is a new beginning.

+++++

Forgiveness is a process. Grief doesn't vanish in a day, week, or month. Both take time. Lots and lots of _time_.

But the important thing is this:

They will be _okay_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Azyungal --> love of all loves.
> 
> Ghivashel --> treasure of all treasures.
> 
> There might be a Part II: What Happens Next. A quarter of it has already been written, but I'm not sure if I'll ever get around to actually finishing it.
> 
> Note: Not beta-ed. And, am still sorta-kinda struggling with this kind of writing method. So, if you did enjoy reading this, do leave a comment! They are adored greatly, I assure you.
> 
> [whispers] comments and kudos also deserve banana smoothies and vodka (?) and my car (???) -- come here, let me bribe you
> 
> Also if you have any writing advise, I would love to hear them! ♥ ♥ ♥


End file.
